Participants:
| Scene Title | Guest Pass |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Rory gets a visitor with an odd request. |
| Date | July 25, 2018 |
The past few days, the Wolfhound bunker hasn’t felt very much like home. There was a discomfort in the air she couldn’t shake, which led her to packing a bag and heading to the Safe Zone. She hadn’t planned beyond that, though, and since her friends are mostly in Wolfhound, she didn’t have a place to sleep. And she didn’t realize until she was already here.
Which is how she has ended up here, among the people waiting for their turn in the lottery. Some of them have been here long enough to mark their trailers with little bits of personalization. Plants here, curtains there, all they have space for and all they can afford. By the time she knocks on Rory’s door, she’s in a better mood than she has been in days.
With the summer heat it's no real surprise that each of the trailers have a soft buzz of energy coming from them as they run their internal air conditioners, including the one she approaches. There's little to differentiate Rory's trailer from any others— there's not much in the way of decorations. He does have an outside storage unit up against the side, that instead of having a lock keeping it held shut, a stone claw reaches out of the ground and holds the box and the storage unit down. On all for sides. It would take a force of nature to break in. That alone would probably deter people.
There's a click of metal as the door unlocks and opens. Rory looks surprised to see her, having honestly expected anyone else at all. He doesn't even realize that his shirt is off right away, though he'd been shirtless and in shorts because the warmth inside his trailer. There's fans running, and the air conditioner, but it's just enough to keep it a little cooler than the outside. Still warm. And he's just used to working with his shirt off.
"Berlin," he says her name in surprise, hand resting on the door frame. Besides him, not much is readily visible.
“Hi,” Berlin says from the bottom of the stairs. She’d had a reason to come by, although it slips away when she looks up at him. “I— sorry, I would have called if… you know… there was any service.” Which is an obvious thing to say, but she only realizes it once it’s out of her mouth. So she sighs.
“I just mean I didn’t mean to surprise you,” she amends, sliding her hand through her hair.
There's a glance around the area, taking stock rather than judging anything here. Part of her can't help but see the exit routes, the weak points, the possible makeshift weapons lying around the rows of trailers. Occupational hazard, perhaps. But none of that is on her face when she looks back at him again.
She tries to not notice the shirtlessness, even if it is a nice distraction from the troubles on her mind. No need to make him feel like she's staring.
“Can I come in?”
The glance that she made to the air behind her causes Rory's eyes to look up, to scan the area, and he notices the way she's standing. He doesn't know her well, but he has seen those who look similar, those who look around for places they can hide, or run to. He had done similar, more than once, before he finally fled the country and sought asylum. Once she gets inside, though, there won't be any options other than the door. The windows are too small to s He had especially seen it when he still lived back home, in the United Kingdom.
But then he realizes part of why she might be rambling. And why she might think him especially surprised. "Oh," he wanted to apologize, to turn around and find a shirt, but first… As he talks, his accent becomes more and more noticeable. Almost as if he's either forgotten to try and sound more like those who live in this country so he didn't stand out as much. "It's all right. I'm not going anywhere." And she's right, she couldn't have called if she wanted to. He has a phone now, but he only gets to hook it up to a mobile hotspot once a day, at most. And only on the days he's at the market.
In answer to her question, he reaches a hand down to help her step up. "Of course."
Berlin glances at his hand, then up at him again with a gentle, but crooked smile. She takes his hand, even though she could do it without help, having the help— from him anyway— is nice. And a little bit charming.
Once inside, she closes the door behind her and drops her bag by the door. Her hand lingers in his a little longer before she gives him a squeeze and lets him go. "I'm glad to see you," she ends up saying after a beat, "work has just been… really complicated lately. It's good to see a friendly face." She crosses to the sofa, dropping onto it with a heavy sigh. "How've you been? How's the market?"
She's missed a weekend, when she normally would have made an appearance. Work was in the way. And in the end, she didn't end up feeling it was worth missing him. It's a strange feeling, not feeling proud of her work.
Those appearances at his booth had been one of the things he tended to look forward to, and he had noticed her absence. Rory had kept telling himself that she would be there in another hour, but no, she had not shown up by the time he packed up his booth and made his way back to the trailer. He had noticed. Closing the door behind her, he makes sure it's latched in place and turns back, looking around the trailer as if to make sure it's in decent shape.
It's bigger than one might think, but still cramped. Very little room to move around. A whole kitchen, though, makes it stand out. With a fridge and stove and everything. He doesn't even have dirty dishes sitting in the sink, which he's relieved about. Sometimes he did. There's two doors leading to closed off areas, in the front and back. The one toward the front is open showing a made queen sized bed taking up a majority of that small space.
There's a table, as well, with bench seats, all attached to the side, but that's the place with the most clutter. It's filled with chunks of rock, like pieces of old brick. Some have been partially shaped, others are still in their natural form. There's a box sitting with even more. He moves to grab a few and start to move them back into the box. "I imagine working for Wolfhound can get complicated." Yes, he apparently knew, even if she didn't say anything directly about it. "The market's been the same, more or less. People complaining about the lack of food most the time."
“Usually, it isn’t,” Berlin says, idly, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. But with a shake of her head, she refocuses on him and the bits of rock. He doesn’t need to clean up for her, but she doesn’t stop him, just watches with a softer smile.
“I’m going to be around the Safe Zone more for a while. Taking a sort of break. At least from living with the people I work with.” The barracks feel suddenly crowded, really. Of course, she hasn’t quite thought this plan through, because everybody she knows to crash with in the Zone are also part of Wolfhound. But the solution seems fairly obvious as she watches him across the room. “Would it be alright if I took over your couch some nights?”
It might be too much or too soon or too complicated, but she doesn’t seem to think so.
“Maybe I can help out at the market,” she adds, a favor for a favor. It’s just chance that both these favors mean more time with him.
While his eyes show the question he might want to ask, that question disappears as she continues, into a blink that isn't even hiding the surprise. Rory's eyes immediately go to his couch, which can pull out into a second bed. He had bunk beds in the back too, next to the bathroom, but those he'd used for storage since, why would he ever need them? The trailers had a set up for a family of up to six, after all. He'd actually had a trailer mate in the beginning, too. But he'd passed over getting assigned to share an apartment with him when their numbers had come up, and perhaps they had forgotten to assign him another.
Maybe they had enough trailers, though they had seemed to add new ones every couple of weeks too.
"Are you sure you don't want the bed in there?" he gestured toward the door. It would at least give her privacy— he would have to pass directly by her if he needed to get up in the night, but then again, so would she if she stayed in that bedroom too. He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck. "You can stay, of course. I'm surprised you don't have anyone else you can stay with." And part of him wishes he hadn't passed up the lottery in favor of those who needed it more. The trailer itself was big enough for him. If he could find a place to set it up he would have offered to buy it, honestly.
As for the other question. He drops the last of the rocks into the box and nods to that. "I could use the extra hands, certainly." He might have been trying not to sound too giddy at the thought of being able to see her every day. The tan on his face (which had been a burn not too long ago) helps hide the flush. At least unless she glanced at his ears.
The reply gets a smile and Berlin glances toward the bedroom, then back at him again. “I’m already taking some of your space and privacy, I can’t take your room on top of it. But thank you. And for letting me stay.” Whatever the size of the place, whatever she might have to give up of her own privacy, she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems less weighted down now that he’s said yes.
“There are other places I could stay,” she points out, because there are options, however… “this is where I want to stay, though.” Which is an important distinction, at least in her book. She leans against the arm of the couch, hand propping up her chin as she looks over at him. While he finishes with the clean up, her expression turns just a little impish. It’s just a bit of a hint that she did notice the flush. “Well,” she says, “I’m happy to lend you one.” A hand, that is. “Two, even.”
The emphasis on want certainly has an impact of a sort. If Rory's ears had been turning red originally, now it even showed on his cheeks before he turned around and went deeper into the trailer as if searching for something. Sadly his shirts were all the other direction. Or perhaps not so sadly. From his back muscles it's clear that while he's not built to the point of some men, he's definitely in shape, and those muscles are tenser than they need to be. Perhaps due to embarrassment.
When he returns from that bunk bed storage area, he's holding a rolled up sleeping bag, thick with cotton padding, and a softer sheet under his arm. "They've been in storage for a while so they may need to be aired out." That British accent that often seems to become more and more present when she's around is even thicker than normal. The time manual labor part was supposed to help him calm his nerves.
It did not. "It'll be nice to have some company," he offers. But somehow the way he says it seems to say especially hers.
With him turned away, Berlin watches with her head tilted. When he comes back, she has a gentle smile on her face. Standing up, she comes over to take the sleeping bag and sheet off his hands. “That’s no problem.” But, instead of going ahead and doing just that, she sets it all down on the sofa and turns back toward him.
“I… thanks for this. It means a lot.” When she steps closer to him, her own nervousness shows in how she looks down to her feet and— once she’s close enough to reach up to touch his face— a shake in her fingers. It isn’t hard to tell that she hasn’t been in this situation often, and that she’s not at all sure he’s on board which is why she pauses with her hands on his face and a questioning, but hopefully look on her face.
While he hadn't expected her to air the sheets out right this moment, Rory also had not been prepared for what happened either. There's definite heat on his cheeks as her fingers brush them, a hitch in his breath that gives away his surprise. The few dates they had been on had been relatively casual, so far, they'd never extended invites back to the places they might have been staying before.
His first thought when she touches him and his breath catches is that this will make her staying here a little more complicated. The second thought is that he wants that complication. Which is why her questioning look on her face gets suddenly answered with movement of his own.
The few inches that he has on her decreases as he leans closer, against the hand touching his cheek, fully intending to kiss her, from the look of things. But slow enough that she could probably use that hand to push him back. Or put him on his arse based on how he'd seen her handle the jerk at the concert.
When he moves closer, Berlin quirks a small smile in the moments before their lips meet. It’s a gentle kiss, but lingering like she might not want it to end. Her arms move to drape around his shoulders as she turns one kiss into two. And then three. Their situation might be complicated, but she prefers it to the alternative of not kissing him.
She ends up breaking the kiss, though, and lifts up onto the balls of her feet, pressing her lips together before she looks at him again. “I’ve been thinking about that since the first time I met you,” she says, her smile a little sheepish. Growing up during the war and joining a paramilitary group shortly after hasn’t left her with much insight into or experience with dating, but she’s willing to figure it all out. Even if they have to make up their own way.
While it seems, when she pulls back, that Rory very much intended to turn two into three, he doesn't actually close that distance again. Or even push to. But the way his eyes drift back down toward her lips and the way he clears this throat and licks his lips slightly— yeah all that gives away his desire to very much continue that. Or do it again. Again later will do almost as well. The words, though, leads to a hoarse laugh. Hoarse because his throat is suddenly tighter than he expected.
It's a sentiment he understands. "I had thought about it a time or two myself." As far back. Which he never would have admitted if she hadn't said so first, probably. A time or two. Grave underestimation.
"Let's get that aired out. And I'll show you where the public well is. We have to refill the tank if we both want a shower in the morning." And with it being a public well, it sometimes meant waiting. Everyone had the same tanks to fill, and often for the same reason. He's about to offer her a hand when… oh.
"After I put a shirt on," he flushes as he slips past to the bedroom, to dig up a shirt from the storage beside the bed. This might get a little complicated, but he thought they'd figure it out.